Whispers in the Dark
by Endymion forma
Summary: The White Whitch is forced to confront the demons of her past- she was not always as ruthless as she wants to remember. Which Jadis will she be: the weakling, or the destroyer of worlds?


**Whispers in the Dark**

The White Witch sat on her frozen throne, spindly fingers clutching the arms of the seat. Her face was cast into shadow- it was always dim, in the main hall of her castle. She stared ahead, deep in thought. There were a thousand ways she feared the lion would defeat her in the coming battle; she had to outthink him ahead of time. She knew that he was surely busy helping the two sons of Adam and the two daughters of Eve to reach Cair Paravel; time was on her side. For her, it would be a simple sleigh ride. She had to take the time she had now to outwit every move he could contrive.

She looked around as if she expected to see his golden body leaping at her at that very moment, emerging from the behind the dais on which she sat or jumping down from the impossibly high ceiling. But no; there was no shimmering mane reflecting light in a million directions at once. There was no piercing gleam of something indescribably warm and good that shone into all the dim places of evil.

No. There was just the dark. She was ever in the dark- she had not been born into it, but she had made herself into a creature of dark. She had destroyed suns, dimming them to a feeble glow of crimson that gave naught but coolness.

There was something pressing the back of her mind, making it increasingly difficult to concentrate. Something to do with that last thought she'd had, that one of darkness. It was a smoldering nagging- not an outright attack on her train of thought, but a slowly smoking reminder of something. Something she couldn't wrap her thoughts around.

She redoubled her focus on the task at hand. Was there anything Aslan could do to harm her through magic, from afar? None that she could think of. He had his magic, certainly; he was there when it was created, as was she. But she had enough protection built up in the long years of winter that there was nothing he could do to harm her in her castle. Even outside of its protective walls, so much of the land was frozen or given over to the Witch's side that Aslan would have trouble finding ways to attack her through trees or creatures.

There was the feeling again! That intangible _presence_, worming a place into her head, was making it impossible to concentrate. She felt around the matter, trying to tell what it was. It was like having a word on the tip of one's tongue; one has only a brief shadow, a vague outline of colors and shapes, that define what one is trying to think of. But whatever it was, the Witch knew that she did not want to investigate it any further. That was not a thought she wanted in her consciousness. In fact, it scared her. This was a thought, a presence, a memory, that she did not want to- should not- have.

_Jadis_...

Dammit!

The Witch's face flickered for a moment, a split-second failure to remain cool and detached. And then her frozen visage was back to its stony, expressionless, countenance. She showed nothing. That damned presence was still there, but if she refused to acknowledge it it might go away.

_Jadis_...

She stood abruptly.

The Witch descended the steps leading up to her throne, and set out on a brisk pace that spanned the length of her hall. She had to think of ways to defeat that dratted lion. He was here, though she had denied it for as long as she could; there were definite rumors of Narnians having actually seen him, encountered him, spoken to him. And wherever these rumors went, followed a trace of hope, a taste of rebellion against the Witch's rule. That meant that while working on defeating any attacks the beast could send against her, the Witch also had to quell dissent among the forests, as well. She had to keep him from gathering any sort of proper army. Maugrim was out with his guard, seeking allies among the minotaurs and other foul beasts that did not like to keep to the light of day, things that scared the heart of any decent Narnian. She hoped that in the next few days her newly raised army would arrive at her castle. She would organize it, then lead it to Cair Paravel.

Yes, it would work. She had nothing to fear, nothing to worry about. Nothing except-

_Jadis_...

The thought was more insistent now.

_Damn you, I am no longer that of whom you speak! I am something else now, something more powerful! I was born into power, I leveled whole worlds, and that power has done nothing but increase through my reign over Narnia! I am a Queen!_

She had acknowledged the thought; even worse, she had responded to it, replied to that very front on which it had attacked her. And now it was out. She knew just what the invasive presence in her mind was. It was a memory of her past self, Jadis, destroyer of Charn, the last and greatest Queen!

No... no. That wasn't quite what she was being pressed to. Even still, she realized, even having acknowledged the presence of this invasive memory, she tried to deny the body of what it was saying. She was glorifying it. And the part she did not want to hear was breaking through.

_Don't forget, _Jadis_, that you were not always so cruel._

No, I will not think this, will not remember this-

_You were born in the shining light of a thriving Charn, and you were once willing to make peace with your enemy, your sister._

But I didn't, did I? I destroyed her in the end! I was the only one left on that devastated planet, a world I single-handedly defeated. I was the last Queen!

_But you weren't always a queen, were you? You were born weak, and you are still weak! It was your sister who was meant to be queen, not you! You were not born to this! You didn't even always want to kill for the throne. No, you were willing to make allowances. You were ready to show mercy. You were willing to stick to agreements, and refused to use Magic out of honor! You were weak!_

In her hall of shadows, the White Witch sank to her knees. It was an odd sight: the tall and imposing figure slumped over, her hands torn between grasping at her face and pounding the floor in fury, body shaking with emotion but face as stony as ever. Her body was wracked with pain that her face had forgotten how to express.

"I used it, in the end," the woman gasped out in a whisper. "The Deplorable Word, the one that destroys worlds- I used it, to destroy Charn."

_But not until the end. Not until there was no other option, with all your enemies defeated._

She was silent a moment, and still. She did not think, did not feel, did not speak. She ignored all memories. And when she rose again, she was not Jadis the woman who had shown mercy towards her sister, and who had resisted from using magic until she had no other option to save her life. She was Jadis, conqueror of worlds, the White Witch, the bringer of everlasting winter. And she would defeat this world, this pathetic Aslan and his precious Narnia, with not a trace of hesitation or mercy. There would be no peace agreements. The only agreement she would ever make would be for the utter destruction of the cursed lion and his world. She would slaughter every creature and tree on the world if she had to- if she had to, she would use the Deplorable Word, and she would not hesitate. Not this time.

No- this time, the world would tremble in her wake. Ten thousand years from now, there would not even be a single remnant of this place to have nightmares about her, Jadis, mightiest and last Queen!


End file.
